


Infamous

by RubyBakeneko



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: #EatTheRare Fest, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, First Time, Hand Jobs, Implied Will/Hannibal, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Nigel-Typical Language, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-08 00:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyBakeneko/pseuds/RubyBakeneko
Summary: Nigel is at a bar, looking for someone to pick up. He meets Will, a man who is both antagonistic and irresistible. Unbeknownst to Nigel, he looks a lot like someone Will knows.





	Infamous

**Author's Note:**

> This is set sometime towards the end of season two, when Will has become fully immersed in conflicting feelings. I considered trying to generate some elaborate backstory to makes sense of (1) Nigel’s survival and (2) his presence in Baltimore. However, I then admitted to myself that I really just wanted to explore how Nigel might interact with Will, and to write smut. So, I’m asking you to kindly overlook the implausibility of Nigel’s presence!

There are two things that help Nigel vent his bottomless reserves of manic energy—fighting and fucking. He’s choosing the latter tonight, searching for a warm body and a willing mouth. Usually, that would be a woman’s mouth; Nigel loves full breasts and smooth curves, the sensuality of a girl writhing on top of him. However, he has spent the better part of a half hour staring at a man who is beautiful enough to shift him a few notches on the Kinsey scale.

The object of his interest is sitting alone next to a half-empty glass of whiskey, bundled up in a grey coat and dark scarf. He’s chewing on the edge of a plush pink lip and staring fixedly at the surface of the table in front of him, brows knitted and shoulders hunched, seemingly miserable in spite of having a face of a model. He’s simply too intriguing to ignore.

Taking a swig of his beer, Nigel walks over and slides into the seat opposite, draping his arm around the empty chair next to him and waiting for a response. His failure to announce his intentions is a power play that usually works—people respond to him automatically. But this man doesn’t look up. He just scowls harder and coughs once, a theatrical noise that communicates “fuck off” just as clearly as any verbal dismissal Nigel has ever heard. This aggressive demonstration of solitude just makes Nigel more determined.

“Hello,” he says, deliberately soft and low. Women have told him outright that his confident purr makes them weak at the knees, and he knows from experience that it also has broader appeal. “What are you drinking?” 

The man looks up, at least—a definite improvement—and he's even more striking at close range. Unfortunately, he jerks back in his seat as if Nigel has slapped him. That’s not so promising.

Nigel holds up both hands in mock surrender. “Easy there."

He detects something like recognition, then confusion and interest. Those bright, searching eyes are as pretty as any he has ever seen, framed with thick, dark lashes under thicker dark curls, the delicacy of the man's features balanced by the sharpness of his stubbled jaw. The combination makes Nigel salivate.

He presses on. “And what’s a gorgeous thing like you doing drinking alone, acting like the weight of the world is all on his fucking shoulders?”

The man swills the whiskey around in his glass and looks toward the doorway. “I’m having a brief respite from swimming against a tide in which I know I will ultimately drown.”

 _Hot and dramatic_ , Nigel thinks. “Did some cunt stand you up?”

This earns him a bitter chuckle. “I only wish.”

Nigel leans forward, tilts his head to coax the man into meeting his gaze. “I’m Nigel.”

“Will,” he says, pausing like he’s calculating something. “Will Graham.”

Nigel knows that name, but he can’t place it. “Are you famous or some shit?”

“Infamous, I suppose, would be the better way to describe it,” Will says as he takes a drink. “I’m the guy who didn’t kill all those people.”

A few pieces slot together in Nigel’s memory, the details incomplete. He thinks he recalls an image of a longer-haired Will boxed in by reporters, remembers some complex story about an elaborate framing and a serial killer.

“Well, that’s very dull, Will Graham,” Nigel says. “Always better to be the guy who did something than the guy who didn’t.”

Will half-smiles at him—grudgingly, like it has been pulled out of him by force—and that’s the moment when Nigel knows he will stay.

—

They order another round and they talk, skirting around the secrets they know they both have. They talk about Baltimore and Romania, about Will’s seven dogs and the music Nigel loves. Nigel flirts shamelessly, and Will _almost_ flirts back. 

“Quite the colorful vocabulary you have there, by the way,” Will says as he brings their third drinks to the table. “You wear your vulgarity like a suit of armor.”

“You don’t know me.”

Will snorts like this is funny in some way Nigel doesn’t understand. It’s annoying, making him feel like he’s the butt of a joke no one has bothered to share with him.

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Will says. “But I know _people_.”

Nigel sits back and folds his arms, momentarily distracted from his righteous quest to get Will’s clothes off. “Oh yeah? Then who am I, genius?”

Will blinks a few times, the frown returning. He looks at Nigel’s hands, his clothes, the silvery tracks of his various small scars. “Well, you don’t make an honest living, that’s for sure.”

“Careful.”

Will arches an eyebrow. “Precisely the sort of thing that a man who doesn’t make an honest living would say.”

Being met with this utter lack of fear is new, and it sends a frisson of excitement through Nigel. He doesn’t know whether to feel pissed off or turned on. It’s sexy to feel powerful, but there’s something equally electric about being challenged.

“You live in chaos,” Will continues, absently rubbing a hand across his jaw. “What you do— _whatever_ it is you really do—it’s ugly. So it’s easier to act like you’re ugly as well.”

“With this face? Come on now.”

“You’re passionate—emotional, even,” Will ignores the quip, caught in the flow of his own thoughts. “But you’d rather express it with violence than tenderness.”

Nigel shoves a hand in his pocket, taking out a pack of cigarettes just so he has something to do. Will’s words feel intrusive—they’re vague, but somehow no less incisive and unsettling for it.

“I think you hurt people, but you don’t _love_ it,” Will says. “Everything you do, it’s just displacement. Your wires are crossed… The connections are all wrong.”

He looks harmless enough on the surface, all doe-eyed innocence and vulnerability. But there’s a flash of steeliness in his eyes, a latent cruelty in the way his features twist sometimes. It’s like he’s found a wound in Nigel and is scraping his fingernails across it to see if it still bleeds. It makes Nigel’s fists clench and his dick throb at the same time.

“So I’m really just a sweetheart?” he sneers, leaning back in his seat. 

“I didn’t say you were sweet,” Will says. “But all your bravado, your brutality… it’s an expression of pain, of darkness that’s been welling up for a long time. Maybe even since you were a little boy.”

“Oh, are you fucking psychic now?” Nigel snaps. “No? Well, fuck off then.”

He regrets it immediately, worried about Will walking away and even more angry about the fact that he’s worried. Will holds his gaze, tension simmering between them.

“You’ve been betrayed,” Will says eventually. “Recently.”

“Yes. Had my heart dashed to fucking pieces, as a matter of fact.”

“I know the pain of betrayal,” Will sighs. “I know it from both sides.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“I didn’t come here to find a goddamn shrink,” Nigel says. “That’s all.”

Will laughs, the sunny burst of it sincere but inexplicable. “No?” he asks, almost coy. “Then what did you come here for?”

“I thought I’d find a beautiful woman who’d spread her legs. But I’d just as soon as have your smart mouth wrapped around me.”

“Would you now?” Will says, and heat of his stare is enough to have Nigel shifting in his seat, swelling uncomfortably against his zipper. He wants to reduce this man to complete incoherence, make him beg and moan and come. 

“You got a place, Will?”

“I’m curious about that myself.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Nigel says, rolling his eyes. It’s evident that Will is intentionally teasing him now, theatrically exaggerating his own eccentricity for sport. “I’m just trying to figure out which flat surface to pin you on.”

“Any one you’ve got."

Nigel shrugs. “I’m staying at a motel. Nothing fancy, though.”

“No silk sheets and soft pillows,” Will says faintly, almost like he’s talking to himself. 

“None of that, I’m afraid. I’m offering you a saggy mattress and a hard cock.”

Will lifts his glass to his lips, tilting his head back and swallowing the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. Nigel’s eyes track the bob of his Adam’s apple and the shift of tendons in his elegant neck. 

“Then let’s go,” Will says, sliding out of his chair.

Nigel is not sure what he did to deserve this kind of luck, but he is sure that he wants to watch Will’s ass as he walks to the door and hails a cab.

—

Once they’re in Nigel's room, Will barely has a chance to shrug off his jacket before Nigel stalks into his personal space and pushes him against the wall with a thud, one palm on his chest and the other braced behind him. Unexpectedly, Will is the one who surges forward to close the gap between them. He kisses like he’s starving for it, rough beard scraping Nigel’s skin and tongue immediately pushing into his mouth. 

Nigel gives a muffled laugh, gladly parting his lips. He once again idly wonders why Will isn’t afraid, given what he was able to intuit. He is drunk, sure, but not _that_ drunk, and he’s groping a strange and dangerous man like he has a death wish. Maybe he does—or maybe he’s just as dangerous himself.

Nigel breaks their kiss. “Did you do it?” he murmurs, running his tongue up Will’s neck, teeth grazing his earlobe. “We’re all alone now, gorgeous, just you and me. Did you kill those people? You can tell me. I’ve killed more than my fair share.”

Will makes a low sound that’s half bitterness and half pleasure. “Of course you have,” he mutters shakily. “But no. No, I didn’t, I… not that time.”

 _Not that time_.

“You’re not the only one who can get the fucking measure of someone,” Nigel says, nuzzling downwards to suck a bruise onto smooth skin. He pictures himself covering Will’s whole body, mottling him, itching with the urge to _own_ him. “I know a predator when I see one, darling. Even if it’s hiding at first.”

Will spins them around suddenly and gets one hand around Nigel’s throat, tight enough to be a threat but not so tight that it cuts off his air. It’s a quick, dexterous move—much quicker than Nigel would have guessed. Will tilts his head, something like curiosity in his eyes, and Nigel grins back, feral. His fingers flex by his side, ready to reach for the knife in his pocket if foreplay turns to mortal peril.

“Shut up,” Will hisses, chest heaving. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

Nigel thinks that’s pretty rich coming from someone who rambles their way through opaque, meandering monologues, but it sounds good regardless. He reaches down between them to grip Will’s cock through his pants, squeezes it and finds it hard and thick.

Nigel smirks. "This says plenty, anyway."

Will lets go of Nigel’s throat and kisses him again, tugging at his bottom lip, hands sliding down to grab Nigel’s hips and pull their bodies together so he can grind into that pressure. Aggressive one minute and needy the next, Will is a glorious force of nature. This is about something else for him—Nigel can feel that, and it somehow stings to think that these touches might be meant for someone else.

Will’s face is flushed when they finally break apart again, his breathing unsteady. He sinks to his knees, pulling at Nigel’s pants and boxers, and then he’s swallowing him in a long, smooth slide. They quickly find a rhythm together, Nigel pushing progressively further into Will’s throat and gasping at the force of the suction. 

Will’s mouth is hot and welcoming, his tongue swirling and lapping at the head of Nigel’s cock between deep thrusts. He is noisy as he moves up and down, like he knows that’s what Nigel needs, giving him audible slurps and sometimes changing the pace to just lick a warm, wet stripe up the side of his cock. There’s saliva trailing down Will’s chin, and he’s palming his own dick through his slacks.

Nigel is in heaven, eyes rolling back. “Fucking perfect,” he groans, leaning his head against the wall and grabbing a fistful of Will’s glossy hair. “Just like that. Ah—you’re a fucking angel.”

Will just seems to sense when Nigel is close, pulling back and panting with some combination of exertion and arousal. Nigel takes over, stroking himself fast and tight as he stares down at Will’s beautiful face. Will gazes back, unreadable. Nigel imagines the unbearable joy of fucking him, conjures up the needy sounds he would make and the sting of the marks he’d claw into Nigel’s back.

“Stay on your knees,” Nigel says as he jerks himself off. “Let me look at you.”

He’s right on the edge of orgasm when Will obstinately gets to his feet, swatting Nigel’s hand aside and replacing it with his own. His grip is different—looser, not so fast—but it’s precisely that unfamiliarity that makes Nigel’s toes curl and his pulse thunder in his ears. He comes so hard that for a moment he thinks he can’t breathe, reveling in the sticky mess he’s making of Will’s blue shirt.

“You’re a world-class cocksucker,” Nigel says, liquid-limbed and sated. He feels like he’s glowing from the inside. “Take that as the compliment I intend it to be.”

Will snorts and makes a face, wiping his chin with the back of his wrist.

“What do you want? Shit, I’ll give you anything,” Nigel says, and he means it. In his post-orgasmic haze, he’d love to give this rude, magnificent man the world. “Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

“Your hands,” Will says falteringly, like he lost confidence somewhere along the way. “I just… I want your hands.”

“Not very ambitious, but suit yourself,” Nigel says, reaching for Will’s belt. “Hands it is.”

Will pushes his pants and boxers down to his thighs and his cock curves up towards his stomach, shining at the tip where he’s leaking. Nigel wets his palm with an audible, crass spit and takes Will in hand with a squeeze. His eyelids flutter closed then open again, like he needs to look at Nigel’s face.

“You’re—oh god, I…” Will is saying, not making much sense. His mouth is hanging open, still red and swollen, and his cock twitches in Nigel’s palm.

Nigel chuckles, hand moving with increasing speed. Will is trembling all over.

“Fuck, you really need this,” Nigel says. “Does it feel good, Will? Come on, show me.”

Will's breath stutters as he grips Nigel’s left arm with white knuckles, fucking his fist. He loves how Will is actively chasing his pleasure, the sound of it wet and urgent and filthy—everything Nigel loves in a fuck. He cups Will’s balls and plays with them the way he likes it himself, a gentle counterpoint to the rough pump of his hand.

“Are you going to come for me?” he whispers as he slides a thumb over the slick head of Will's cock, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin of his neck. Will tugs at his hair and pulls him closer, a pleading sound catching in his throat. Nigel bites gently, tasting sweaty desperation. 

“Harder,” Will gasps. Nigel complies, a shiver running through him as he pictures the marks his teeth will leave on Will’s pale flesh. Will comes with a full body shudder and a guttural moan, shooting sticky and hot up Nigel’s wrist and forearm. 

He expects Will to pull away, but instead he slumps forward and rests his face against Nigel’s shoulder. It feels oddly affectionate and Nigel ducks away after a few seconds, trying to shake it off. He’s self-aware enough to know he could easily get addicted to this strange cocktail of violence and vulnerability.

Will seems to come back to himself and takes a few steps to the side, looking dazed.

“Do you want to sleep here?” Nigel asks. “It’s not much, but…”

Will nods gratefully and walks to the bed as though on automatic pilot, lying on his side and facing away. Nigel flops down on his back and unbuttons his shirt, exhaustion and alcohol quickly lulling him into unconsciousness.

—

During the night, he stirs when he feels the light touch of Will’s fingers tracing the contours of his face, brushing along the curve of his cheek for a fleeting moment. Nigel considers opening his eyes but thinks better of it.

When he wakes up, Will is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m also [rubybakeneko](https://rubybakeneko.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come and say hi any time! And [here's the link to this story on tumblr, should you feel inclined to share it](https://rubybakeneko.tumblr.com/post/165957949190/infamous-rubybakeneko-hannibal-tv-archive). Thanks for reading!


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